An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
He’s sure Peter knows already just how grateful Killian is to have this back. It should be absurd to feel so comforted by the presence of someone such as him, by the press of Peter’s skin on his, that tantalizing grassy-dew scent he takes on when he perspires. He’s missed Peter, all of him from his body to his arrogance and frightening intensity of mind. The boy holds him spellbound, submerged in whatever sick obsession they’ve cultivated between them since first laying eyes on each other. Maybe that’s why sometimes Killian feels as though he’s known Peter far longer than memory serves.
He feels the narrow ribcage beneath him expand around a swift intake of breath and finds Peter giving him a hard look, eyes slitted as if he’s heard something he doesn’t like. “You’d do well to follow that idea.”
